


Constructing (a relationship) An Arm

by AngeNoir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Bucky and Steve had come to the fae to get a limb for Bucky. It's always tricky to ask a fae for a favor, even if it's a straight business transaction, and it's even trickier when the fae has a secret themselves.





	Constructing (a relationship) An Arm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



“Well, you came to the right place, at least.”

Bucky did his best not to crowd closer to Steve, to stand on his own and watch as the diminutive fae flitted about the workshop they were in, but it was hard, particularly when his shirt was off, baring the stump of his shoulder to the world. He and Steve were an old species, had been around for a long time, and they had been created together, so he could trust that Steve would take care of him – but, at the same time, Bucky had always taken care of himself, had taken care of _Steve_. The role reversal put him on edge as much as his lost limb did.

“Good thing you were nearby, or nearby enough to make it to me before any major issues set in,” the man continued. He was sharp-featured, a sparse and small beard brushing over his chin and upper lip in a semblance of a goatee. His eyes were tricolored, like most of the fae; rings of deep brown, light hazel, and a liquid gold that flashed in the light. Lean, light muscles lined his body, even though as a fae they normally weren’t obviously muscled the way other races were – a result from the blacksmith and metalworking the fae did regularly.

They had heard about this fae, of course – most in their line of work had. This fae, known only as Antonius, was the best known for his weapons and defenses, and his creations worked well in magical and non-magical confrontations. Mercenaries and guards for hire preferred his work to all others, and greatly valued his expertise. Still, he was often hard to pin down, and he didn’t often agree to work for people. The fact that he had not only agreed to work for Steve and Bucky, but physically met with him… it was an oddity.

“You’ll have to stick around for quite some time. Your battle pack, they’ll stick around with you? Or will you be on your own? You really shouldn’t be on your own. With everything that’s going to happen, you’re going to need people around you that you trust to help you. You told me in your missive that pain was no stumbling block, but trust me when I say that living metal is as close to a hell on this green earth as can be created.”

The fae’s voice was lilting, bouncing, a pleasant baritone even if it was a tad rough around the edges, and Bucky found himself drawn to it.

“How long?” Steve asked, frowning. “I thought you would just… equip him, like you equip others.”

With an incredulous laugh, the fae made an over-the-top gesture at Bucky’s missing arm. “You think _that_ can be replaced in a single session? The metal has to grow, has to have intent, has to link to nerves and it is _not_ a pleasant time, I assure you.”

Steve turned to look at Bucky, pained. Bucky knew why, of course – the only reason they had come in this direction initially was because the Howling Commandos had picked up the scent of the Red Fang, a brutal alpha who killed his way across whole continents. In part, they were simply putting down a rogue alpha at the behest of the King, but the Red Fang and Steve had history, and Steve desperately wanted to bring the mad wolf down.

Swallowing hard, Bucky mustered up a smile. “If ya need t’chase after ‘im, don’t wait on my account. I’ll find a place here, travel to the shop here. You know I c’n take care’a myself.”

Furrowing his brow, Steve’s mouth turned down. “If you’ll be in pain, I’m not going to abandon you to that. You need someone to stick around. That young pup, the newbie—”

“I ain’t takin’ in a pup, not when I’ll be hurtin’,” Bucky said sharply. “You can drop that thought right now.”

Those tri-colored eyes bounced between the two of them before the fae huffed. “Look, he’ll stay with me until this is all over.”

Immediately, the two of them turned to the fae, wary. The fae never offered help unless they were getting something out of it – and beyond that, fae did not live in this world. To travel to the Court, one had to be fae, have an explicit invitation based on a contract, or be a thrall. Neither one of those options applied to Bucky.

“We can draw up a contract, set the terms, it wouldn’t take very long.”

Steve shook his head. “That is a very, almost over-kind offer, Antonius, but Bucky is my pack. I feel responsible for providing for him.”

The fae’s eyes narrowed, and Bucky worried a little. Refusing a fae’s offer was historically not good, but at the same time, entering in contract with a fae was also, historically, Not Good.

Bucky tuned back into the conversation when the fae whirled around, smell of heat and fire more concentrated as he thrust a finger in Bucky’s decision. “Well, it’s up to him now, isn’t it? If he wants to refuse my _generous_ offer of aid during one of the most trying times of his life, comparable almost to when he first _lost_ his limb in the first place, that’s for him to do and not you, little yapper.”

Red sparked in Steve’s cheeks, and Bucky could see Steve gearing up for a fight – a fight that he couldn’t afford to get into, not if the Howling Commandos ever wanted a weapon or tool created by his hands again, not if the Howling Commandos wanted to stay on the good side of the multiple fae Courts in general. While the fae may have their own squabbles, this particular fae was prized and held in high regards, making weapons for all the Courts and was a resource that none of his people wanted to lose.

Bucky stepped forward and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “As much as your offer is generous, Metalsmith, you can understand why we are justifiably worried.”

“Hmm,” the fae responded, and it might just be Bucky, but it looked as if there was respect in those stunning eyes. “Tell you what. Return with me Underhill, and no harm shall befall you through my negligence or inaction. In return, you shall remain within my reach and prevent harm from befalling my own person.”

It _sounded_ simple and straightforward. It sounded like everything would be fine. Which was probably why Bucky’s hackles were up and everything in him was warning him this would be too complicated, too problematic to get into.

“Your offer is, as I said, generous,” Bucky began slowly. “But if your workshop is here, I will just find a place to live in the city and visit as needed. It would be much simpler, and more accessible to my pack.”

The fae tapped his fingertips against his chest, eyes distant, and then suddenly burst into a whirlwind of motion. “Of course, why not? Makes sense. Will you be close? You’ll need a place for at least a month. Needs to be accessible, of course. You don’t want to put your place in Fanged territory, either. There are many shifter communities in the city, even got some of the Heavy-kin. There are a few miscellaneous other peoples spread throughout the city, though none nearby this workshop. Your pack can help you find a place, I am sure. But, before you go!”

Darting over to the furnace, he reached into the fire, pulled out something that looked like lava – melted rock, glowing a deep red-orange, swirls of deep black shot through the color. Manipulating it like taffy, stretching and rolling it in his hands, he suddenly turned and dashed back to Bucky.

Before either Steve or Bucky could react – and they _should_ have been able to react, wolf-kin were _known_ for sharp and fast reflexes – the fae had formed it into a disk and pressed it up against Bucky’s stump.

Reflexively, Bucky jerked back, Steve’s roar of anger echoing in his ears – but his stump didn’t hurt. Eyes wide, he stared down at the weird thing now attached to his stump. The glowing red color was fading, turning a deep gunmetal grey, the ripples actually looking really cool.

Which was when he realized that Steve had actually leapt at a fae, one of the Old Ones, an Ancient, an Old Power. He was currently in his half-shift, teeth snapping inches away from Antonius’s face, clawed hands digging into Antonius’s upper arms, feet planted and clearly straining to push forward and allow him those last inches to close his jaws around the fae’s vulnerable throat. For his part, even though the fae was easily a head shorter than Steve, Antonius looked absolutely and perfectly calm, one hand clutched around Steve’s throat, holding the wolf-kin’s head away from him, looking unruffled even as blood bloomed and soaked into the tank top he had been wearing in the shop. His other hand was glowing with a blue-white fire, ready to burn Steve to a crisp.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you _moron_ ,” Bucky snarled, reaching down to grab Steve’s tail and _yank_ as hard as he could.

Antonius’s gaze slanted over to Bucky, and there was a deep, cold calculation there – but also mischief, amusement, and something akin to appreciation in those colored depths.

“Forgive my alpha, Forger of Empires and Ruin,” Bucky growled through gritted teeth as he did his best to haul Steve back with one arm and against Steve’s furious weight. “He has no manners.”

Antonius did not move for one, long, agonizing second, and then, almost casually, he seemed to shrug his shoulders, sending Steve stumbling backwards. “You’re lucky that I’m aware how others take my tricks, mercenary dog, and that I have taken such a shine to your second, who, I can see, has _proper_ manners.”

Had Steve not been so angry, he may have given Bucky the dirtiest look – it was normally the opposite, Steve the level-headed and clam one, Bucky the one to instigate problems – but for right now, he was holding tight to Bucky’s wrist, sniffing over Bucky’s stump, obviously trying to make sure that Bucky wasn’t hurting.

“The living metal’s base is in place, you’ll live, now go find a place to live that I can invade when I please. Go, leave, you’ve tested my patience enough. Unless you’re willing to take me up on that contract? No? Then do not test my patience any further.”

***

“I don’t like leaving you here with this fae. He’s already proven himself untrustworthy,” Steve snarled.

Bucky was enduring the pawing on his stump by the other members of the Howling Commandos, flashing his teeth at the pup who got too close. Sam chuckled, dancing out of Bucky’s reach, nostrils flaring and eyes a bit too golden, a bit too wild. He was still having trouble controlling his shift and his moods, but he wasn’t that bad as a pup. He was more annoyed at Dugan, who was roaring with laughter at the idea that Steve had taken a swing at the infamous Antonius of the Thorn Court. It wasn’t as if Steve had a good history of picking smart fights, and this type of laughter only encouraged him to be more of an idiot than normal.

“You asked for the arm, and agreed upon the payment. You attacked him without provocation. He’s offered to help in all the ways any fae would offer,” Bucky pointed out, angry but unable to really get mad when he knew Steve felt responsible for the loss of the limb and was worried about chasing after Red Fang while leaving Bucky behind.

Steve kept pacing, shaking his head. “Something’s up with him. You know it, I know it, he wanted you to go Underhill too badly, offered too much and didn’t explain why. Something’s _up_.”

“I’ve been around for as long as you have, Romulus to your Remus, at your back for all of this,” Bucky said, voice steady.

Heaving a sigh, Steve ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I have your back for this, Buck. I do. You know that.”

They were sitting on the couch of Bucky’s new apartment, moving furniture around for Bucky, and Steve seemed to be seriously considering not going after Red Fang. For all that Bucky appreciated Steve’s care and worry, he did not want to have Steve miss the best opportunity they had to catch the Red Fang this decade. “I’m your second for a reason, Steve. Just because Gabe is stepping up while I’m here doesn’t mean I couldn’t wipe the floor with him, even as I am.”

“Hey,” Gabe said, voice deadpan and eyes unimpressed.

“I can handle myself.”

Through guilt and through strong-arming, he convinced his pack to shuffle out of his apartment. Once they were gone, he stared at the door.

He should be out there, with them. The Red Fang had personally harmed him, let alone Steve, and they both had a bone to pick with him. He’d be missing out of the hunt, missing out on watching Steve’s back. He did not do well with being left behind.

With a sigh, he flopped back on the sofa and peered at the stump – he had been jimmied out of his shirt the minute his pack had heard about the story, particularly since Bucky was cursing up a storm at Steve, berating him for his idiotic actions.

The scarring was still very vivid, for all that his advanced healing had saved his life and kept him from bleeding out. The wound itself was almost a year old, as it had taken time to get a hold of Antonius and get approval for the project. He still had nightmares, trapped in the ice, blood the only thing keeping him warm, not knowing if Steve had survived the Hydra attack, hoping the pack had heard his howls and could find him in this winter wonderland, hoping that other predators didn’t catch scent of his blood and come sniffing around first.

The metal that was somehow capped over his shoulder gleamed in the low light, catching on the ripples, and looking close it almost looked like runes, or at least a deliberate language. Squinting, he nervously reached up and brushed his fingers against the cool metal. It felt a little ridged, with all the ripples of it, and the finish of it was smooth, like watered steel.

A knock startled him up off the couch. Confused – did Steve ignore what he said and sent him a pack member to babysit anyway? – he walked over to the door and opened it.

No one was there.

The knock came again, and then his ears checked in and let him know the knock was coming from the bedroom.

Seven hells, would he already be eating his words about how he could handle himself?

Feeling the change creep over his hand and face, he pushed open the door.

There was a crow sitting on his windowsill, tilting its head at him.

Frowning, Bucky let the shift fall away, and flapped his hand at the window. “Shoo.”

The bird knocked on the window again.

Blinking, Bucky stared at it. Was it sick? Rabies? A Wing-kin? What—

The crow knocked on the window again.

“Get outta here. Stupid bird,” Bucky grumbled, approaching the window.

Mantling its wings, the crow squawked indignantly. Bucky nearly closed the blinds to ignore it when he shifted just right to catch that the crow’s eyes were tri-colored.

 _Shit_.

Licking his lips, he stared at the crow. Many of the Old Peoples needed explicit invitations to enter homes, but this was a temporary home, and he certainly hadn’t marked it as his territory. Keeping the fae out might be worse in the long run, especially if he had to deal with the fae tomorrow.

“Any particular reason you’re outside my new apartment, hours after I actually acquired it, Iron Song?” he asked.

If a crow could look sly, well, that crow pulled it off.

Deciding that he really had nothing to fear from the fae – if the fae was going to harm him, it would happen with the arm, or in the workshop, no reason for it to happen here and now – he sighed and opened the window.

The crow came in and melted smoothly into the fae, those sharp eyes dancing. “ _Much_ better mannered than your alpha. It took him forever to leave, didn’t it? You would think his lifelong nemesis would be enough to get him moving. Still, Wolf-kin are always so loyal.” Antonius patted Bucky’s shoulder and grinned. “Good for me, won’t it be? You’ll need me alive for your limb to be completed. Also, with all the excitement your over-eager alpha created, I don’t have the specific measurements of your fingers.”

“You couldn’t have done that tomorrow?” Bucky asked dryly, mind racing. Keep the fae alive? That couldn’t have been a slip of the tongue; Antonius was fae. Everything they said was deliberate and measured. Antonius wanted him to have that information, and Antonius was giving him that information for a reason.

Sighing delicately, the fae strolled into his kitchen, pulling some raw meat from the fridge that the pack had just stocked. “There are many things I _could_ have done. I _could_ have incinerated your alpha. I could have denied your request in the first place. I could just decide _not_ to make you some bloody hamburgers. Many things.”

Bucky watched the fae move in his kitchen. On the one hand, it was important he didn’t forget that the creature before him had immeasurable power at his fingertips, able to wipe Bucky out if he wanted. On the other hand, the fae was short, no getting around it – rare for a fae – and there was a strange undercurrent Bucky was picking up. Something was wrong, and it looked like the fae was pinning his hopes on Bucky which meant that something big was coming his way that he, an Old One, believed he needed help with.

So he sat slowly at the small kitchen table for two, watching with steady eyes as the fae flittered in his kitchen, dragging spices and seasoning, some potatoes, creating a huge and hearty meal and piling it up on a plate before putting it before him. When he sat on the other side of the table, placing the dish before Bucky, however, his eyes were glowing, and his face was dead serious.

“James O’Bearain, James of the Spear, James of the Far and Near Death. The White Wolf. The Silent Death. The Captain’s Right Hand. The Winter’s Death. The Wolf of the Wilds. The Second Soldier of the Howling Deaths. You have been around for almost two millennia, haven’t you? Especially resistant to mind control magics, after your stint underneath the control of a particularly vicious alpha’s witch, called the Red Fang and his Winter Witch. You contacted me and asked me to replace a limb you lost while fighting a Hydra – a Hydra you took on all by your lonesome, until the rest of your pack could come to your aid. You could, in all fairness and by all measure, challenge your alpha for command and in a straight-forward battle, you would win. However, you don’t. Wolf-kin. Loyal. As I have mentioned.”

Bucky didn’t touch the food, didn’t drop his eyes. This was a challenge of some kind, and he needed to answer it in some way, but he didn’t know which way was best, or would be helpful for his continued chances of living a long life.

“You need something of _me_ ,” Bucky said slowly. “You’re here because you need protection. You wanted me in Underhill, you wanted me to stay with you, and since I dodged that, you’re here, in my place.”

Antonius’s eyes flashed, and for a minute all the lights in the apartment darkened, something that looked like black wings stretching out from the slim man before Bucky. “That may be true,” the fae murmured, voice soft and like velvet hiding a stiletto. “Best not forget, you also need _me_. You came to me, in need. What was the price you paid for something so delicate, so precious, so _unique_ that I will be named for its creation?”

Bucky didn’t bite his lip, but it was a near thing. He couldn’t remember the exact wording of the payment Steve had agreed upon – a dangerous problem, considering how important wording was to the fae.

“Let me refresh your memory, Relentless Winter Frost. Your alpha agreed upon your presence when I needed it, as well as the strength of your arm, until the limb is fully replaced.”

Dammit, Steve. Just vague enough to cover Bucky’s support in any endeavor Antonius attempted.

With a wolf-smile, feeling the hunting mentality settle down in his shoulders as he stilled, waiting for the assignment. “You may have my coerced help, but let me warn you against taking it for granted.”

“Coerced? Oh, no, no, definitely not,” Antonius chuckled, leaning back, and suddenly whatever darkness and low light had happened was gone, as if it had never happened. “Certainly I would not _coerce_ someone to care about my continued well-being. You could not hope to stand up to what is coming for me, in any case. No, I simply want you as a witness, an unbiased witness.”

That froze Bucky in his place, and he weighed it all in his head, looking at Antonius’s face, looking for any clue in that arrogant façade. “You want a witness. You intend to take whatever or whoever it is out, and you want a witness who says your force is justified.”

“I knew I picked a smart puppy,” Antonius purred.

Bucky looked around his apartment, then back at Antonius. “You think whoever it is will attack here? In the middle of civilians?”

Propping his chin up on the heel of his palm, Antonius hitched his shoulder up in a careless gesture. “Probably. They’re humans, they will breed more of them quickly. And remembered I offered to have you keep this away from everyone else.”

Bucky looked down at the cooling food, and sighed. There wasn’t much more he could do, honestly, beyond breaking the contract and saying he did not need the limb anymore, but there was no one else as trusted as the Metalsmith of the Thorn Court. Other creators could not be trusted to be straightforward or useful in their work.

Besides, it was clear that the fae had a soft spot for him, what with the flirtatious looks in the workshop, the compliments – fae rarely recognized the positives in anyone besides themselves – the fae had given him, and making him food. It might not be the smartest decision, but it was Bucky’s to make.

Bucky put his hand out across the table. “Bucky.”

“Gesundheit?” the fae said, arcing one perfect eyebrow.

Bucky chuckled, letting his voice drop low, tilting his hand a little to make the handshake more obvious. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Not your True Name,” Antonius murmured, eyeing his hand, before those stunning eyes met Bucky’s again. “But very close. _Very_ close.”

Bucky waggled his fingers.

With a dramatic sigh, Antonius shifted, putting his calloused and rough hand in Bucky’s. “Well, if we’re going to be becoming… _intimate_ with one another, you may call me Tony.”

Curling his fingers to stroke over Antonius’s wrist, Bucky let his grin lose the predatory edge, become something more friendly. “If you’re staying here in any case, we may as well be… _intimate_.”

Antonius – _Tony_ – let out a laugh, and he pulled Bucky’s hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over the knuckles before letting it go. “Eat up. I wasn’t kidding about the pain you’re going to be experiencing. Attaching nerves won’t be fun.”

For all that pain was promised in the future, Bucky watched An – watched _Tony_ across the table as he tore into the juicy meat, and he had to think that, for all that he didn’t know what he was getting into or what he was facing, it certainly looked to be… _interesting._


End file.
